The Bear of Solitude
by Knead-Boric
Summary: It's been years since the Stormcloak Rebellion, and Ulfric is now High King of Skyrim. He can't run his kingdom alone however, he needs someone to help him rule, someone to help him consolidate his power. And he knows exactly who that person is. Saerlund Red-Bear.
1. Chapter 1

It was a cold Frostfall night, or was it a late afternoon? It did not matter. The Ratways were always cold, day and night. It mattered not the month of the year or the weather of the day. All that was certain in the Ratways Warrens is that it was damp, sodden, and nippy. There were men outside of his room, Stormcloak men. It's been years since he had held a sword for the Legion, these Stormcloaks weren't concerned about his past service, that was certain. No, these men didn't just come to gawk at poor old Salvianus.

"Are you Saerlund Red-Bear?" one of the blue-men asked.

"Saerlund..." Salvianus whispered to himself. "No one has called me Saerlund since..."

"Seize him." ordered the other.

There was a quick skirmish between the two blue-men and the ex-Imperial. They subdued him fairly easily and fitted his hands in bindings.

"What is the meaning of this!? I have done nothing to you Stormcloaks! I'm just an old soldier, nothing more! I'll have you know that I am..."

"We already know who you are, Saerlund Red-Bear." interrupted a man clad in a blue fur-trimmed coat emerging from the shadow, his face half-obscured. "That's why Skyrim is in need of you."

The shadowed man fully stepped out of his dark corner to reveal himself as none other than Ulfric Stormcloak.

Salvianus falls to his knees and weeps at Ulfric's feet.

"Aye, I have missed you too, Brother..." murmured Ulfric.

* * *

 **Author's note:** I wrote this little story during my free time just for the heck of it. At first I wanted to make this a shorty, but midway through writing the second chapter I decided to make this a long one. I have already written down Chapters 3 to 5, so I'll upload them in the following days.

I don't plan on updating or adding new chapters regularly since I only write during my free time. Expect 2 new chapters per update though.

Hope you enjoyed. Comments and criticisms are welcomed.

* * *

 **PS:** Didn't really know how to categorize this fic since it wasn't entirely focused on Adventure or Fantasy. But after 2 seconds of contemplation I decided to list this under Drama and Fantasy. Might change it later.

* * *

 **PSS:** This is my fourth ever fanfic. And I've only ever started writing fiction recently. 3 weeks, I think.


	2. Chapter 2

The cart they were being transported in was dark and somber. Cold metal frames enveloped its insides, and hardwood barreled, wrapped and fitted around it. A small barred window on each side allowed light to enter the cart. Ulfric was sitting on the far side of the bench opposite to Salvianus, to his left. There were two tankards and a flagon of mead next to Ulfric. Dried blood was splattered where he sat, someone had died there once. It has been a silent ride since Riften, the cart occasionally swayed and swung. Salvianus was looking around the cart for most of the journey.

"This is an Imperial prison cart" he uttered, breaking the silence.

"Aye, it was an old prison transport." explained Ulfric. "Its wooden cask is as hard as a shield. Not a swing from the biggest warhammer nor a shot from the strongest bow can pierce it. And its door just the same. I'll tell you Brother, this boxed cart has saved my life more times than I can count. A reliable thing this is."

"There's blood on the seat. What happened to the prisoner? Did you seize this cart from the Legion? How did the prisoner die?!" asked Salvianus in a fury.

"Calm yourself Saerlund. Yes, we did seize this from those damn Imperials. As for the prisoner... let's just say that he was an undesirable."

"Don't call me that. Don't call me 'Saerlund'." he rasped as he calmed himself, he then turned his head and sulked.

Ulfric poured himself a drink of Black-Briar mead and downed it in one swig. He poured himself another, before filling the other tankard and handing it over to Salvianus. He accepted the drink.

"You can't deny who you are. You are Saerlund Red-Bear, bastardborn of our father, the Bear of Eastmarsh, and an Imperial merchant.. and my dear brother."

"I forsook that name the day I joined the Legion. I am Salvianus, Praefect in the Eight Legion, Second-in-command of Legate Calia..."

"You miss her, don't you?" interrupted Ulfric. "She was a great legate, that Calia. Would've made a fine general too, I would know it. Better than that coward Tullius, that's for sure."

"You talk about her as if you knew her..." said Saerlund in a dry, agitated tone.

"She was my commander too, you know. She was a Shield-Sister to us all, nay, a Sister even."

Saerlund went silent, sorrow can be seen in his eyes. Memories of Calia filled his mind, memories of the fiery ships on Lake Rumare, of the Aldmeri's siege of the City. He stared at the distance, water filled his eyes slightly.

"I'm sorry, Salvianus." interrupted Ulfric, bringing him back to reality. "I shouldn't have doubted you. You knew her all too well after all, better than any one of us."

"Why did you come for me? Why did you disturbed me?"

There was a long silence. Ulfric eyed Salvianus, then retorted:

"I am High King of Skyrim, the Moot has made that undisputed, that, and now that Elisif lays dead..."

Saerlund's eyes widened. Ulfric knew all too well that Saerlund had an old fondness for her. Saerlund clenched his fist. Before anyone could act, Ulfric continued:

"Her killer's head now adorns the walls of Solitude, Erikur. Slimy, petulant little rat he was." he spat. "Solitude is now without Jarl, and..."

"So now you want me to serve as Jarl for you, is that right?" Salvianus interjected, he was no longer clenching his fist "Why _me_ out of all people? I was just a soldier, just a praefectus! How do _I_ qualify for the jarlship of all people? Why not her other Thane? Bryling, her name was, I think. So why not her? Or even her steward, Falk Firebeard?"

"Because I know you, Brother. I know that you inspired love and loyalty in men. You are my father's son and it shows. I cannot possibly trust any of Elisif's courtiers, even Bryling. They have too much of an attachment to their old Imperial overlords, they are too likely to rebel against me, and even run back to the Empire should one of them take the jarlship. What's more, too many people doubt me still. I need to consolidate my grip on Skyrim. I need someone I know will not fail me, someone who I know will represent me well. I need you, Brother."

Salvianus was silent, it's been years since he's been in Solitude, his old home. And now he was being offered its jarlship? An absurd proposition, but a tempting one still.

"So what say ye, Saerlund, don't you want to return to Solitude, don't you miss it?" asked Ulfric.

Before Salvianus could even answer, the cart came to a halt. "Arriving at Windhelm, my king!", a soldier shouted from the outside of the boxed cart.

* * *

 **Author's note:** You may have noticed that I put "Imperial" in the character list. Well, I added that in because Mr. Random-Insignificant-NPC-Salvianus wasn't in the character listing. Granted, I have basically turned him into my very own beast, and he should therefore be considered an OC, but it still would've been nice to have him and ALL of the other named NPCs in the character listing instead. As impossible as that is.

Hope you enjoyed. Comments and criticisms are welcomed.


	3. Chapter 3

The Windhelm Stables were filled with carts for some reason, Saerlund didn't bother to question it however, he was too drained from the journey. It was dusk when they had arrived at the ancient city, only a small crowd had gathered at the gates to watch their king's brother's arrival. He recognized some of the faces of that crowd: Rolff Stone-Fist, the racist bastard, Viola Giordano, the kind, old, nosy woman, Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced, tough man he is, served under Calia too, Saerlund was glad to see that he's alive. And Agrenor, Agrenor 'Once-Honored', also served under Calia...

"By the Gods, Agrenor, what happened to you?" he thought to himself.

Salvianus was quaintly welcomed once he stepped into the palace. Jorleif and the maids quickly hushed him to his very own room, where he was given a warm bath and had his beard shaven. He was given clothes fit for a noble, color was Imperial red too. It was the first time in years that Salvianus even looked presentable, in fact, it looked as if ten years was taken away from him. It felt, strange.

"You better get some sleep, Saerlund," said Ulfric standing by the door as the maids were leaving. "You'll have quite the day tomorrow. Can't have you sleeping during the meeting."

* * *

Salvianus tossed and turned in his bed. The Palace of the Kings was a cold place, even with a fireplace in his room to keep him warm it was still cold. It wasn't the cold that bothered him though...

* * *

"Salvianus! Wake up, soldier!" shouted an authoritative voice.

Salvianus quickly rose to salute his superior.

"Salvianus, where are your clothes, soldier!?"

He looked down to see that he was naked. Not even a loincloth was there to cover his throbbing member.

"Excuse me, m'Legate, I seem to have lost 'em during last night's scouting expedition." he laughed.

"Get dressed, dear. I need you at my side for the order-of-the-day." Calia chuckled as she handed a bundle of clothes and armor to Salvianus.

After getting geared, Salvianus quickly followed Calia out of her tent to find himself in an Imperial camp. They were at the shores of Lake Rumare. Soldiers were busy all around them: Ulfric and Galmar were having at it with some of the practice dummies, Stalks-His-Prey was fine-tuning his prized bow, Yrsarald came out of the healer's tent in full armor, he walked with a limp gait as he was clutching at his chest. Plebo, the meek boy, was holding up the wounded man by his shoulder, Rikke came out of the quartermaster's tent, she had been doing so for nearly every morning for several weeks now, and Agrenor was putting out the campfire, he had half a loaf of bread still in his mouth. All of them were young then.

 _"The Great War..."_

Not too long after Calia's arrival, the sounds of drums could be heard strumming throughout the camp. It was time to receive the order-of-the-day. Soldiers quickly went into formation in the middle of the camp, Calia stood strong in front of her troops, Salvianus was at her side.

"Listen well soldiers. As you may have heard, no word has come back from the Leyawiin garrison for weeks now. Worry not, they probably just forgot to feed their couriers is all." she chuckled. "In any case, I will send a scouting team to reach the city and see if it's in any trouble. Remember boys, the Elves can be coming any minute now, Leyawiin can be under siege this very moment. Or even captured by now for all we know."

Some of the men tensed up. They've been anticipating the Dominion's full force to hit them for some time now, but it's been quiet for the meanwhile. The order-of-the-day finished, most of the men dispersed to continue on their day, as per usual.

"Stalks, you will be in command of this scouting party, take Ulfric, Salvianus and Plebo with you. You will meet with the garrison at Fort Redman should you need shelter for the night, then you'll continue on your mission. Report back to me, or the Redman garrison should you see anything suspicious or troublesome at Leyawiin."

"Ssir yess ssir!" answered Stalks. "Ulfric, Plebo, to the quartermaster'ss, we need to prepare."

The three men quickly left.

"Yrsarald, are you well enough to travel?" she demanded.

"Yes sir! Healer says all I need is the hourly potion for today and I'll be fine." the brute answered.

"You're quite the tough man, Yrsarald. I've never seen someone take two sword thrusts to the sides so well. You really did show those bandits. Now go on, Stalks is probably giving instructions to the team by now! Move soldier, move!"

Yrsarald quickly limped his way to the quartermaster's.

"You're sending me on a scouting mission, m' love? You must put a lot of trust in me." chimed Salvianus.

"I do put a lot of trust in you for a reason, you know... Listen honey," she whispered to him as she approached. "Stalks is a good soldier and all, but he's too hesitant and fleeting, I can't trust him to hold himself together. Your brother and Yrsarald are too rash and bold to think straight. Everyone else, safe for you and Agrenor, are outright incompetent. You're the only capable man I know I can trust. I need you to watch over this party, okay?"

"Anything for you, m' Legate." he responded as he bowed towards her as if she were a noblewoman.

"Quit your antics, Salvy." she chuckled as she punched him in the shoulder. "Now get moving."

They both shared a quick kiss before Saerlund departed to meet with the rest of the party.

* * *

 _"No... come back, come back.. I don't want to go, I, I.. I shouldn't have gone..."_ Salvianus mumbled in his sleep.

* * *

 **Author's note:** This was the chapter that confirmed the feeling that this was going to be a long one for me. I just added some dialogue, then more dialogue, then even more. In short, I might end up regretting summoning this beast later on, but peu importe.

Hope you enjoyed. Comments and criticisms are welcomed.


	4. Chapter 4

Water filled the stone room he was in, all the way up to his neck.

 _"The Fort..."_ he thought to himself.

There was no escape. Ulfric had disappeared when they stormed the fortress, and Stalks left Saerlund to find help. He had hoped to die in a glorious battle in the waters, but not like this. Memories raced through his mind. Memories of his mother, of Ulfric, of Solitude and of Windhelm, of the first day he swung a sword, of Calia. Death was nearing him soon. Saerlund Red-Bear, one of the most fearless men in the Legion, was now frantically drowning, in the dark, scared.

All of the sudden he was pulled down into the water by someone. He struggled to free himself from his attacker and resurface, but to no avail.

* * *

Saerlund woke shaking, wet all over. He had pissed himself in his sleep.

"Night terrors, eh? I'll have the maids change your bedding." chuckled Ulfric.

He was sitting at the corner table of the room, eating breakfast.

"Don't worry about it, after I escaped that dreaded Thalmor dungeon, I was pissing myself to night terrors for weeks. What did you dream about, Saerlund?

"I had a dream about the Fort... when you were captured.." murmured Saerlund.

"Ah, the Fort. A terrible ordeal that was. I'd... I'd rather not have you mention it, actually..."

Ulfric stared off into the distance for a second before coming back to his senses. Finished with his breakfast, he belched and got up.

"Anyway." he continued. "The Jarls and nobles have gathered at the hall for the meeting. If you haven't noticed from all those carts around the stables last night and what not. Your official appointment as Jarl of Solitude will commence soon."

* * *

Jarls and nobles filled the banquet table at the main hall. All had gathered here to discuss the appointment of a new Jarl at Solitude. All have heard of Saerlund's return of course, and every single one of them knew what for. Some were content, agreeing that Saerlund was surely a capable man, but others weren't so pleased by the news. Those few had come hoping to express their discontent with the High King's intentions. Nonetheless, all were courteous and remained silent as Jorleif welcomed them and prepared to speak.

"All hail Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Eastmarch, and High King of Skyrim"

In walked Ulfric, soon followed Galmar to stand at his side, then Jorleif, then Wuunferth, then Saerlund. In unison every nobleman and lady stood to take a bow at their king as he sat on his throne.

"Nobles of Skyrim!" exclaimed Ulfric. "You all know why we're here. Jarl Elisif has unfortunately passed away at the hands of Erikur the Traitor with no issue of her body or any known next-of-kin. A sad end for a dear woman."

There were chuckles that passed around the room. Not a single ounce of care or sympathy was even given to the late Elisif. Those that did give were begrudgingly silent.

"According the the laws of the Old Nords, should a Jarl die with no lawful heir, it falls upon the High King to appoint a new one in their stead."

"In accordance to Nord law, you also shouldn't kill your High King either." thought Saerlund, vexed by the chuckles of the crowd.

"I have thought long and arduously, and have come to my decision. Saerlund Red-Bear, my naturalborn half-brother, shall henceforth serve as Jarl of Solitude! He is the most capable man, having served alongside me as a Praefect in the Eight Legion during the Great War. I can attest to the fact that he posseses leadership and martial skills like none other. Rivaling even Ysgramor himself! I am sure that he will make a fine Jarl, as... "

Cheers roared across the the hall before he even finished. A noticeable except few were silent in discontent.

"But my king, this is preposterous!" spoke up a man in the crowd.

The hall immediately quieted down. Ulfric, caught off guard, stared perplexedly at the interrupter.

It was Brunwulf Free-Winter.

"My king, with all due respect, isn't it unwise to be appointing your kin, out of all people, as Jarl of Solitude?! That's pure folly! The people of Haafingar won't abide by such a thing!"

"Hush, Brunwulf! Do you dare question King Ulfric?" shouted Galmar as he readied his axe.

"Lower your weapon Galmar, he poses no threat. Let the man state his reasons." swiftly ordered Ulfric.

"Thank you, my king. But as much as we all here respect the authority you command, I cannot stand by such a careless motion. Already the people of Solitude detest you with a passion after the sacking of their city. But sending your brother to replace their beloved Jarl will be considered a bigger insult to its people. This can only breed unrest, it is not right!" explained Brunwulf.

"He is right!" interjected Dengeir of Stuhn. "But not only that! He is Imperial! He cannot claim the jarlship!"

"What would Imperial blood have to do with this?" yelled Maven Black-Briar.

"Blood and roots have everything to do with this. In accordance to the Old Ways, those that aren't of Nord blood cannot claim the title of Jarl, nor that of High King in turn." Dengeir answered.

"Does it matter, Jarl Dengeir?" Jarl Korir responded. "The people of Solitude are Imperial, by heart if not by blood. Maybe an Imperial Jarl might appease them, in spite of his blood relations to King Ulfric. Solitude needs a capable man that can not just rule them, but keep them content. Besides, he's of Nord blood as well, though his father. Nowhere is it said that one had to be of pure Nord blood to claim the title of Jarl."

"Dengeir isn't wrong, Korir." interposed Jarl Vignar. "He isn't _truly_ of Nord blood. So how can we be sure whether or not his heart rests with Skyrim? What if he still has old loyalties to the Empire? His Empire..."

"I may have been born of an Imperial mother," Saerlund finally declared. "But I was raised in the Old Nord Way since my adolescence, I have always been Nord! I may have held a sword in the name of the Imperial Legion during the war, but I did so in defense of my homeland, same as all of you!"

"Homeland? You mean Cyrodiil?" someone butted in the crowd.

The entire hall soon devolved into arguing.

"Saerlund is not right! He is half-Imperial!"

"Can we afford to cause such unrest? Will we even be able to quell it?"

"This is in accordance to the Old Nord Ways. We mustn't protest."

"He is a capable man! Solitude needs a Jarl!"

"He has worn the Imperial red! He cannot be trusted!"

"He knows how to fight! Better than Torygg, that's for sure."

"This is nepotism! An abuse of power!"

"You would dare to question the king!? Treason I say!"

"ENOUGH!" ordered Ulfric.

No one listened.

"If it brings order to the Solitude, then we must allow this!"

"Why should we even bother to appease those damn traitors? They followed Tullius into war, against Skyrim. We owe them nothing!"

"They are less deserving of respect than dogs!"

"How dare you? They are as much Nords as we are!"

"As much 'Nords' as we are, aye. Nords in their Imperial houses, eating their Imperial foods and drinking their Imperial wines, adhering to their Imperial laws, reading their Imperial books in front of their Imperial fireplaces while sitting on their Imperial furniture that is!"

"I SAID ENOUGH!" ordered Ulfric once more.

Still, no one listened.

"I would rather see Skyrim burn to Oblivion before I allow an Imperial to rule a Hold!"

"This is madness! A travesty!"

"Madness? This. Is. Sky..."

 **FUS ROH DAH**

Plates, spoons, forks, candlesticks and such flew off violently from the banquet table, landing about the entrance. Cold winds gushed into the hall as the door of the palace was flung open by the Shout. The quarreling seized. All were too shocked by the unrelenting force of Ulfric's Thu'um to even dare speak any further.

"I have made my decision, and I stand by it." Ulfric announced as he sat back down on his throne. "Now, if there is anyone else who has something to say, I invite them to do so. Else, we will proceed to the ennoblement ceremony."

No one answered. The rest of the meeting continued on without incident.

* * *

 **Author's note:** When I was writing this chapter, the first time around, it was Jarl Idgrod that was supposed to say "What would Imperial blood have to do with this?" instead of Maven. I decided to change that however, not because having Jarl Idgrod around would've been contradictory to a Stormcloak victory's canon, but for other reasons...

Reasons that I will most likely never elaborate on. :)

Hope you enjoyed. Comments and criticisms are welcomed.


	5. Chapter 5

Salvianus had to suffer another long ride in that dreaded Imperial cart. He never quite knew why Ulfric was fond of it.

"This blasted thing is trapping me. It's draining. But it makes Ulfric feel safe for some reason, and that's probably all that matters to the man." he thought to himself.

Salvianus was cladded in the fine clothes he was given on the day of his return. It was a fur-trimmed coat, not too different from that of Ulfric's. This one however was colored in an Imperial red, with an opulent shade of mauve brimming on the edges of the sleeves. It suited him well.

Salvianus wasn't alone in the cart. Sitting in front of him was Galmar. Drinking straight from a cask of mead, he paid no attention to Saerlund, nor did he even utter a word the entire journey. In Galmar's hand was a rolled piece of parchment, a decree officially proclaiming Saerlund's appointment as Jarl.

The cart came to a stop. "We've arrived at Solitude, my Jarl." a soldier announced.

"Shy, Saerlund?" finally asked Galmar.

"A little bit. It's been a while since I've been to Solitude. I don't think anyone will even remember me."

"Don't worry about it. You're their Jarl now, they'll have to remember you." said Galmar as he was exiting the cart.

The walls of Solitude were as thick, as strong, and as daunting as Saerlund remembered. It had been years since he's seen them, but they were still a welcoming sight.

Two spiked, rotting heads were visible from the walls' ramparts. Erikur's, and that of his Housecarl, Melaran as well.

It was late afternoon, and there was a large crowd outside the gates. So much in numbers they were that the city guards had to make a barricaded perimeter around the path just to clear the way. All of Haafingar Hold had come to see the arrival of their new Jarl.

Saerlund, under guard by his personal retinue of Stormcloaks and accompanied by Galmar, walked through the city gates and into the streets. As they walked towards the Blue Palace, the crowd watched in awe. There were a few jeers that rang through the air here and there, but surprisingly the townspeople were calm and simply just stared.

"A warmer welcome than we expected, it would seem." Galmar remarked.

Once reached to the Blue Palace's courtyard, its gates closed to the common people. All of Elisif's court gathered round their new Jarl. Galmar stepped forth to the center of the crowd of courtiers, standing on a wooden wine box that a maid had placed there as he approached. He broke the parchment's seal and unrolled it, then cleared his throat.

"I, Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and High King of Skyrim, do hereby name Saerlund Red-Bear, naturalborn son of the Bear of Eastmarsh and my brother, Jarl of Solitude. May he serve the people of His Hold long and faithfully, and may he bring honor to Our fair Skyrim." the hulking old man rasped. He handed the edict to a castle guard, who held it up for all to see.

Quiet applauds followed, until a man brought himself before the new ruler and bowed.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jarl Saerlund.."

"Jarl Salvianus, please." corrected Jarl Saerlund.

"Yes, Jarl Salvianus." he answered, rising back up. "I am Falk Firebeard, steward to the late Jarl Elisif and her king husband before her. I welcome you to the city. I am sure we will serve you well, my Jarl." he said as he cracked a half-smile.

"I am sorry for the loss of your Jarl, Falk. She was there you know, Elisif, when she and Torygg bade me farewell when I left for Windhelm. We were good friends, all three of us. Playmates you see, but they were young children at the time and I was older though." the Jarl told.

"I would know, my Jarl, many of young ones were there alongside them to see you off, including me." replied Falk.

"Salvianus, long time no see!" intruded a man.

"Aldis? Is that you?"

The two men shook each other's hands and hugged. Both knew each other during the Great War. Aldis was from another unit however, last Salvianus recalls.

"How have you been, Aldis?"

"Great, great. I haven't seen you since the Red Ring! A long time ago that was, we should have a dri..."

"Alright, alright, you two lover boys can catch up later, but now we have to formally appoint our here Jarl." Galmar said, breaking up the two.

"Ah yes, my ceremony. Very well, to the Palace."

The crowd quickly shuffled their way ahead into the castle.

* * *

The ceremony was a quick one. The nobles and courtiers gathered around the throne as Salvianus walked up the steps from the palace's entrance and sat himself on the Jarl's seat. Galmar, at Salvianus' side, read once again Ulfric's edict for the sake of formality.

Soon a priest entered the hall. Saerlund rose from his throne and knelt before the man, who started anointing the new Jarl. The priest mumbled an incomprehensible, elongated prayer, then placed a circlet on Salvianus' head.

It was made of a strong copper, with three gemstones embedded in it. In the center, a large amethyst. The two other stones that accompanied it; a ruby and a sapphire, fitted on one side or the other. The stones fitted Salvianus quite well actually. Ruby was for his Imperial heritage and the Empire, and blue for his Nord heritage and the Stormcloaks. The amethyst meant the unison of these two cultures, not just for Saerlund, but for the people of Solitude as well.

"Divines smile upon you, my child. Now rise, o' blessed Jarl. And take thy rightful seat."

So he rose and sat on his throne once more. Cheers and whistling roared across the halls, so much so that it echoed throughout the streets of the city.

The Jarl dedicated the rest of the day to accepting oaths of fealty from his court.

* * *

 **Author's note:** This chapter, by far, was the hardest one to write. I don't know why, but I simply got writer's block the second I finished writing Galmar's proclamation. I was able to get around that though. I cut short the conversation between Falk, Aldis, and Salvianus too for the sake of brevity.

Also, originally the priest was supposed to recite a really, REALLY long prayer that I made up. And as I did for the sake of brevity once more, I simply cut it out altogether. Here's the passage, if you were wondering how it looked like:

 _"May the blessings of the Nine Divines be bestowed upon this Jarl. May he be blessed by Akatosh, so that his legitimacy be recognized across the lands. May he be blessed by Julianos, so that he may be wise. May he be blessed by Zenithar, so that he may be prosperous. May he be blessed by Mara, so that all of his subjects love him as they love their kin. May he be blessed by Kynareth, so that he may be a guiding light to all. May he be blessed by Stendarr, so that he may be just. May he be blessed by Dibella, so that he may be fulsome. May he be blessed by Arkay, so that his soul may be guaranteed ascension to Aetherius. And may he be blessed by Talos, so that he may govern his people with civility." prayed the priest as he placed his hand on the Jarl's head._

Hope you enjoyed. Comments and criticisms are welcomed.


End file.
